What inevitable curse forces the Muses
to abandon the shelter of the living heart?
What had once flourished with a glittering rhythm of song
becomes a howling pit tormented with ghosts of memory.
Those eternal beauties get weary of this weathered shell
and its dull beat forced by the merciless reigns of night and day,
so they flee, dancing to the quiet, hollow requiem of the soul.
1 comment:
There comes a point in time when the muse knows to much and fear dictates to abandon the wretched soul.
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